


melt like this

by nicheinhischest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicheinhischest/pseuds/nicheinhischest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a stretch of stillness, and the only thing Isaac can hear is - is <i>everything</i> - the rustle of their clothes, the scratch of Scott’s blunt nails curling at his hip, their breaths catching between them, unsteady and erratic. How Scott’s heart is pumping so deafening so suddenly, a pleading, unrelentingly rhythmic needwant<i>havealwaysfuckinghad</i> -</p>
            </blockquote>





	melt like this

**Author's Note:**

> **(No ACTUAL spoilers for 3x13, technically just canon verse fic in the timeline btwn 3a and 3b)**
> 
>  
> 
> I should be finishing a big bang draft but instead I'm posting fic for a different fandom cos I am STUBBORNLY AVOIDING DEADLINES LIKE A CHAMP. Right, uh. I love Allison and I'm super sad this potentially great OT3 is turning into what it is, so Teen Wolf can _eat me_ for BOTH times they had Scott throw Isaac against a wall on Monday - basically, abusing the abused is awful, Scott McCall Would Never (TM), and wall slamming is only fun if it's sexy wall slamming. IS IT STILL CONSIDERED FIX-IT FIC IF I IGNORE THE EPISODE EVER HAPPENED? Also I am really sorry I still don't write smut. For [Crystal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/obedeer/pseuds/obedeer), as per. Title is from ["BTSK" by MS MR](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx7afw6CmYc), which I recommend listening to on repeat.

No one is home when Allison pulls up to the house.

She lets the car idle double parked, and Isaac unbuckles his seatbelt but doesn’t leave. He checks the clock on the radio - eight, which means Scott's still on a shift at Deaton's, won't be back for another hour. Isaac's not sure what to do with the extra time.

What to do with Allison.

(He wonders, like always, just how many times she and Scott sat exactly like this before they broke up.)

"That was... fun," Allison says carefully, word lilting up at the end, like she's not entirely convinced but - they're trying. "I mean, it's nice. To do normal things sometimes." She catches his eye. "Right?"

Isaac croaks out a _Yeah_ , doesn't bother telling her whatever this is still feels like a betrayal on both their ends. 

There's a reason they only go out when Scott's working, after all.

"How is he?"

Isaac shrugs. "You talk to him, Al."

"You live with him." 

It unintentionally comes out just this side of accusatory, and Isaac's mouth picks up in the corners, even though nothing's that amusing. "He's great."

"Are you lying?"

Isaac shrugs again. Allison sighs and picks at a hangnail. "Sometimes - sometimes my chest feels tight. Like my soul's too dark for my body. From Deaton's, from trying to find our parents and I know Deaton said that’s what would happen but I’m - I'm worried it happens to him, too, and he won’t talk to anyone about it."

"Well, that's not really my story to tell, is it?"

" _Isaac_ -"

"Look,” he says, gripping the door handle, “I should go,” and Allison's fingers curl around his wrist, strong. His stomach flips fitfully; he's never sure if it's a good or bad thing, around her. He turns to Allison, buries his free hand in his hair before dropping it with a sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say - I know what darkness is, I know what it does to you but he’s - he's _Scott_ \- "

 _He's good_ , Isaac means, and: "I don't know. I can feel it in him, sometimes? If I concentrate." 

Another half-smile pulls at his mouth. Isaac still doesn't know what the joke is. 

" _Really_ concentrate, because he blocks me out from the bad stuff usually."

Allison's brows knit together. "What do you mean?"

"It takes a lot to keep your privacy within packs. We all find ways to build walls," Isaac says, cryptic, and then sardonically, "For example, I'm pretty sure this," he waves a hand, "wouldn't exactly be high up on his list of happy thoughts."

( _For example:_ he’s pulled taut like a rubber band around Scott, wound up and tense and ready to snap at the slightest movement - only it's heightened want instead of combative, sharp and pinpointed like the ache in Isaac's chest when Scott's thigh presses against his on the sofa after dinner, and Isaac stays silent, buries everything deep down and smothers it because it’s easier than facing the truth.)

Allison looks pained at that. "He wouldn't - you know he'd just want," but she stops, because even if it is Scott they're talking about, the waters they're navigating around are rocky at best. “Can - can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

Allison studies her lap for a long while. Murmurs, “Scott...” and trails off to focus on the gear shift instead. 

Isaac aims for light: “That wasn’t a question.”

She smiles, just barely, mouth twisted up. Then she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and looks at Isaac. “Do you like him?”

“He’s my alpha,” Isaac answers, and then remembers how Derek’s misguided brand of leadership never incited any particularly warm feelings. “I mean - he’s my friend. He’s my best friend.”

“Yeah, but,” Allison sits up, adjusts the leg tucked underneath her, and her eyes are on him, intense and imploring. “Do you _like_ him?”

Which. Is a question he’s been trying to avoid, actually. He nods anyway - short, eyes skittering to the door handle, on the cusp of deciding that bolting out of Allison’s car at the point is better than talking about this.

“Do you love him?”

Her voice is soft, mostly even except for the way she can’t keep the slightest tremble out of the word _love_. Isaac laughs - really, just this sharp exhale - and he hunches his shoulders on instinct, because she can’t like whatever he says next, drops them with a sigh and a roll of his neck to relieve the tenseness there, because he’s been trying so hard not to fall into old defenses born from an adolescence spent locked in a freezer, he _has_. 

(It’s been three months since Isaac showed up at Scott’s door soaking wet and startlingly betrayed, and Isaac has a room and a dresser and a real bed - not an inflatable, because Melissa McCall is probably the most selfless person Isaac’s ever known, aside from Scott, and had the cable and internet shut off for a month just so she could buy him one. He can’t fuck this up - can’t fuck up whatever bond he and Scott have that runs deep in their veins just because he's dying to say everything out loud just to see if it's mutual.)

“You should know better than anyone, Allison,” he starts wryly, and gives her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It fades a moment later: “It’s kind of impossible _not_ to.”

She stares without speaking, and then sags in her seat, tucks her hair out of her eyes once more. 

“When I think of him now, I think of you. And it’s not, it’s not like how it is with Stiles. It’s not just -” she stops, stuck on the array of things Stiles and Scott are to each other: friends, brothers, pack, and Isaac wishes it was that fucking easy, wants to learn how to be a constant in Scott’s life that Scott will never question that has nothing to do with the bites they’ve received and the allegiances they’ve made.

Allison’s fingers skim the back of his hand, and she tries again. “It’s easy to understand them but - but you and Scott, it’s.” 

Another pause. 

Isaac tips his chin up, stares at the roof of the car as his head lolls on the head rest. “Just say whatever it is you’re trying to say.”

“I’m _saying_ ,” her fingers are on his wrist again, and he shuts his eyes and turns his hand over, twines his fingers with hers. “If it was just us in those ice baths - just me and you - I don’t know which one of us Scott’d pick anymore.”

Isaac scoffs. “Your humility makes the playing field a lot more level than you think it is, Argent. I’m not the one he dated.”

She shakes her head. “But there’s things I don’t understand about what you two are - you have a pull with him no one else does. I don’t get it, but I want to. I - I want to see what he sees in you.” She pulls a leg up in the driver’s seat, chin resting on her knee, and her voice is hardly above a whisper now. “I just want to understand why you’re so important.”

Isaac laughs again - and that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Sometimes Isaac wants to kiss Allison because it’s just for him, and sometimes he wants to kiss her because he wants to feel what Scott feels, even if it has nothing to do with him. 

They both _matter_ to Scott, right? And he matters to them - but it’s hard to take him out of the equation when they’re with each other, hard to find some crack in the delicate bridge between them he hasn’t already occupied for months and months. Isaac knows it’s never just been about Allison, probably isn’t even really about her so much as it is about how she’s burrowed under Scott’s skin in a way Isaac _craves_ to imitate. He knows this the same way he knows when Allison presses hesitant fingers to his wrist like they're in search of the pulse there that she’s wondering if Scott wants to reach out and touch, too.

( _Sometimes_ , Isaac thinks they’re both waiting for a person they’re not sure they can have, so they’re trying to fall into one another instead.)

“Maybe he’d pick both of us,” Isaac says. “If he had to.”

“Maybe,” Allison agrees, and then smiles ruefully. “Maybe I’m scared that if push came to shove these days, he’d choose you.”

“You’re his _anchor_ ,” Isaac says, and it’s a fact, a quietly despairing reminder that she’s always had a hold on Scott when Isaac’s barely learned to get his head above water. “You can’t just decide you want to stop being somebody’s anchor.”

Allison smiles without showing her teeth, eyes bright. “And _you_ can’t just stop being somebody’s wolf.” 

Isaac opens his mouth to respond, and nothing comes out. 

(She's right, anyway. For as unsure as Isaac can get, he knows being a beta means being hard-wired to _belong_. Means the wolfish instinct in him would follow Scott to the ends of the fucking earth, no questions asked. Means Scott has a hold of that instinct, control of it, and it doesn't scare Isaac, for once, but it _does_ make self-doubt cling stubbornly to him, makes him wonder if Scott would want him around even if he was as breakable and human as Allison, or Stiles, or Melissa.)

Allison faces forward again after the extended silence, arms folded across her stomach; this is the fourth time they’ve gone out like this, the first she’s asked Isaac point blank if he wants Scott, and she laughs now, foreread resting at the top of the steering wheel.

“I wish one thing in my life was black and white.” She flops back with a sigh, smiles softly at him. “Just one thing.”

Isaac falters, and then leans across the center console before he can lose his nerve, but Allison holds him at bay, inches apart, with a hand on his chest. “For what it’s worth,” she murmurs, eyes lowered and lashes long, and fiddles with the top button of his undone cardigan. “I think you deserve to be wanted. To be loved. By - by anyone.”

The _including Scott_ goes unsaid, and Isaac doesn’t know how to respond - _You too_ suddenly seems cheap, even though he'd mean it - so he just closes the distance between them and kisses her for one unguarded moment, firm on the mouth. She makes a soft, sweet sound in her throat, parts her lips for one last peck and then they break away.

Isaac gives a curled lock of her hair a gentle tug goodbye, wordlessly climbs out of the passenger side, and when he glances back halfway up the drive, he can see Allison clear as anything, unmoving, fingers resting on her mouth. 

It’s not until she starts her car that Isaac even realizes Scott’s home.

Every synapse suddenly comes to life, lit up like fucking livewires, and Isaac’s shoulders straighten. There’s the sound of shoes pounding up the stairs, hooking left when they reach the top landing; a heart pulsing heavily in surprise, blood rushing in Isaac’s ears, familiar like it’s being pulled right out of Isaac’s own chest. 

The light in Isaac’s room is on when he gets inside.

He takes a breath, and starts to climb.

*

Scott’s sitting at his desk when Isaac gets there, one of Isaac’s school notebooks open in his lap; he’s wearing the clothes he left in, jeans and a plaid button-up, though there’s a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. He doesn’t look up, even when Isaac says hello. Isaac stands just over the threshold into his room, shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and figures _Fine_. He can do indifference with the best of them.

“Thought you weren’t gonna be back ‘til nine.”

“Deaton let me off early,” Scott turns a page. Strewn across the top, in Isaac’s mostly legible handwriting, are the words _Critical State_ , and he wants to laugh. Of course it’s his Chemistry notebook.

“Did you go for a run or something?”

Scott wipes at the sweat on his forehead and shrugs. “You seemed busy, I went for a jog."

"In the same clothes you wore to work?"

Scott's nose wrinkles. "Didn’t wanna interrupt your date -”

“That wasn’t a _date_ -”

Scott glances up, closes the notebook and twists in his seat to toss it back onto Isaac’s desk. His eyes flash red and that shadow flickers in his chest, Isaac can hear it in the way the heart slows, trudges on like it’s trying to pump out poison. Scott closes his eyes, inhalesexhales calmly before standing. 

“Whatever, dude, I don’t care,” he says blankly, tries to step around Isaac to leave but Isaac blocks him in with a hand on his chest. 

“Wait -” Scott’s jaw tenses, and he stares somewhere over Isaac’s shoulder. “Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not,” Scott answers through gritted teeth, and the sludge burning dark and unwelcoming in his veins flares again. 

“You are - Scott, what do you think you heard?” Isaac pushes, just a little, and it’s unexpected enough for Scott to take a half step back. “Will you - just,” the words cram along the back of his throat, fight their way to the surface and spill out of his mouth at breakneck speed, frustrated: 

“Will you just fucking _talk to me_ \- ?”

“Yeah, like you and Allison _talked_ , right?” Scott’s eyes are on him now, and the bottom drops out of Isaac’s gut. His eyes prickle painfully, still dry for a few more blissful seconds, and when he laughs, it's hollow.

“Is that what this is about?” He doesn’t think, just pushes at Scott again, heels of his palms against his shoulders, takes a step forward to close the distance he creates. “You saw me kiss her goodbye - is that what this is fucking _about_ , Scott? You’re just _jealous_? Did you even hear anything else?”

“ _No_ ,” Scott says, loud, draws out the word on a long syllable. “Not like I needed to hear anything else - I _get_ it, dude. You two can go on dates whenever you want, alright? I’m not stopping you -”

“Jesus Christ, we weren’t on a _date_ ,” Isaac says again, but -

“Just don’t - _lie_ to me about it,” Scott interrupts, and the words come out hoarse, break somewhere in the middle. He drags both hands through his hair, looks away as he drops his arms, and Isaac. Isaac doesn’t know what’s happening.

“I don’t care if you want her,” Scott tells him, and for the first time since Isaac’s met him, he can suss out the lie. 

Oh.

“Scott,” he says carefully, takes one step forward and two steps back when Scott holds his palms up in defense, shaking his head. 

“Forget it.”

“No, but -”

“ _Forget it_ ,” he bites, and shoulders Isaac as he tries to leave again, but Isaac catches him with an arm hooked around his waist, tugs until Scott’s in front of him. He curls a fist into the sleeve of Isaac’s cardigan, makes an abortive gesture like he wants to _shove_ , but he just holds on tighter instead and sways into him.

Scott’s looking down at their shoes, at the distance there, and Isaac asks, “Are you mad because I kissed her?” and he watches a wrinkle of consternation work its way between Scott’s brows. 

“I don’t know,” Scott says. “I don’t - I don't _know_.”

“Okay,” Isaac says, and his heart’s hammering in his chest when he chances a shuffle forward; Scott ducks his head, and all Isaac can see is a fan of eyelashes and a crumpled, distressed expression. 

“Are you mad because I could’ve kissed you instead?”

All the air leaves Scott’s lungs in one long, trembling exhale, and Isaac’s so close he feels the breath on his cheek. His forehead nudges Scott’s temple and he rests a palm under Scott's jaw to tip it up. If he were to tilt his head just so, their mouths would brush.

(The darkness fades just slightly in Scott’s chest, replaced for now by a desperation that Isaac thinks he can feel all the way to his damn toes.)

“Scott?” he whispers, and when Scott inhales, his chest pushes against Isaac’s. “Is this okay?”

There’s a stretch of stillness, and the only thing Isaac can hear is - is _everything_ \- the rustle of their clothes, the scratch of Scott’s blunt nails curling at his hip, their breaths catching between them, unsteady and erratic. How Scott’s heart is pumping so deafening so suddenly, a pleading, unrelentingly rhythmic needwant _havealwaysfuckinghad_ -

Scott sighs, “ _God_ , ye -” and Isaac swallows up the last of the sentence with a kiss.

He's so tired of waiting.

Scott makes a sound in his throat, aching, stutters a wet exhale into Isaac's mouth and yanks his cardigan off his shoulders; their mouths bump together, and Scott - Scott _laughs_ \- not amused, but rather choked with disbelief - only pauses when the cardigan drops to the floor and Isaac cups his face to look at him.

Scott draws a figure eight onto Isaac's hip, under his white v-neck and Isaac sags into him, fingers twisting in his hair, shakes his head and shivers when the pads of Scott fingers skate across his hipbone. 

"You have no idea," Isaac starts, and he wants to smile, but he can't quite get his mouth to work right just yet. "No idea how long I've wanted to do that."

Scott’s half-smiling now - _smirking_ , really - only Scott McCall doesn’t smirk, doesn't look at Isaac like he's already imagining him on his knees -

And Isaac vaguely remembers something about not wanting to screw this up, means to open his mouth and tell Scott _Wait_ or _Is this really a good idea_ but

Instead, he opens his mouth and says, "That's not the first time I've kissed her," and the smirk drops off Scott's face. He fists the hem of Isaac's shirt, pulse jumping, coursing hot in his veins, and he slots their hips together, shifts so Isaac's got a thigh between his, and it’s -

It's a fuck or fight impulse, and Isaac's track record with both is tetchy at best but, unbelievably, all he wants to do is _push_.

He tangles a hand in Scott's hair, lips the shell of his ear and tells him breathy and low, "Not the first time she's touched me and I thought of you." 

This _sound_ gets stuck in Scott's throat, a low whimper teetering on the edge of a growl that Isaac knows, he _knows_ doesn't mean anything other than _Mine_ ; a buzz of satisfaction hums over his skin, gives way to the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he adds, "Thought of you touching me. Kissing me," because oh, there's a point to this, he gets it now.

(They haven't been this antagonistic in a year, not since Isaac'd first been bit and felt the unquenchable thirst to harm and destroy before Scott McCall - affable, well-meaning, stupidly sincere for a supposed enemy life-changing Scott McCall - said _I don't want you to get hurt_.)

 _Fucking me_ , he whispers and Scott loses all his breath at once and walks them forward, arm around Isaac's waist, frantic enough that Isaac's stumbles a few clumsy half steps until Scott just hauls him up and Isaac's shoulderblades slam against the wall.

Isaac gets the breath knocked out of him, hooks his ankles behind Scott; Scott gives up on pretense, keeps his arm solid and steady around Isaac's lower back and uses his free hand to tug at Isaac's button fly until it snaps opens. 

"Shut up," he says belatedly.

Isaac yanks on his hair. "No."

When Scott kisses him this time, it's with teeth; he pushes off the wall with the arm he's got around Isaac, does a half turn and deposits Isaac on his bed, and Isaac barely has time to crawl up on his elbows before Scott ducks in, shoves his legs apart with a knee. Isaac lets him, spreads out with a sigh, fingers digging into Scott's thighs.

"No," Scott intones on a short breath, fits his palms low on Isaac's hips and give a sharp pull so Isaac's body drags down the bed.

"I like you like this," he says, tugging Scott down by his shirt collar.

"Like what?"

"I don't know - wrecked," Isaac answers, and Scott freezes. He pushes off Isaac, breath shallow, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. 

He frowns. "That's not..." he skates a hand up Isaac's torso to cup his cheek. "I don't - I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing," Isaac laughs, trails off when Scott won't stop making that _face_. "Hey. McCall.”

And suddenly Isaac can feel it as the blackness seeps in, makes Scott's heart skip heavily, and Isaac sits up, legs on either side of him; Scott’s still resting on his knees so Isaac has to look up through his lashes to meet his eyes. "Scott?" he asks, voice timid, and Scott takes a breath and shakes his head.

"This," he holds a hand over his heart, "it's like - like it feeds on the bad stuff, dude - makes me something I'm not. Makes me want to, to - "

He stops, and Isaac's hands find his waist; he brushes a kiss to Scott's jaw, starts to undo his buttons from the bottom up, slow and steady. 

"I don't," Scott struggles to find the words, sags so he's sitting on his calves, and the pads of his fingers skim down the line of Isaac’s throat. “I don’t want to feel like this around you.”

Isaac hesitates, and slides his palms up and over Scott's chest to push his shirt off his shoulders; the black tank underneath follows next, and Isaac asks, "You know I trust you more than anyone else in this whole fucking world, right?" 

He doesn't give Scott a chance to respond, keeps him silent with a thumb dragging across his bottom lip. "Not just because you're my alpha."

"Not like you've had the greatest experience with that anyway, dude," Scott tells him softly, and Isaac tries to smile.

"Well. No," he agrees, and hauls his own shirt off and flings it across the room. He lets Scott push him down, and Scott plants his hands on either side of Isaac’s head and peers down at him with a frown. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Isaac slings an arm around his waist, tightens his hold until Scott settles his weight, kisses Isaac with a palm to his sternum. 

“It’s fucked,” Scott says, and rests their foreheads together. “I don’t know how I feel about anything. The thought of you and Allison together is just - I don’t. I don’t think I want you with her. I don’t like being without her. I don’t - I want _you_ , I want you, and none of the stuff with her is even any of my business and I _know_ that but it’s - it’s so fucked, and I feel like I’m losing it. It’s too much.”

He’s breathing hard, sounds lost when he adds, “There’s nothing holding me down any more. And I’m scared I’m going to turn into someone I hate.”

“You’ll find a new anchor,” Isaac starts, and when Scott makes a muted noise of disagreement, Isaac rolls them over so Scott’s underneath him. Closes his hand around the ink at Scott’s bicep. “You will.”

And then he drops all of his weight at once, so Scott sort of _oofs_ and groans. 

“Look, I’m holding you down right now.”

“I can’t _breathe_ ,” Scott wheezes, but his chest is hiccuping with laughter, and the sludge in his chest gets a little lighter. Isaac rolls off of him, flops onto his back, one side pressed along the wall, and he turns his head the same time Scott does.

“This is going to be really awkward in the morning,” Isaac tells him, and Scott nods with his head only half on the pillow. Their arms are jammed together between them, and Scott’s fingers arch out and brush against his. Isaac’s heart’s lodged somewhere in his throat; he doesn’t think he minds that much.

“Yep.”

“I still want you to fuck me.”

“Dude,” Scott says, delighted and reverent and _scared_ , all at once.

He maneuvers around, throws a leg across Isaac’s, settles warm palms on hip bones and moves Isaac to the middle of the bed like he’s weightles. He smooths down Isaac’s thighs and then curls his fingers into Isaac’s back pockets, tugging until the jeans ride low, and Isaac's never been around him like this, never felt _marked_ by Scott’s palms on his skin, intent in the way they tighten and drag and undress.

Scott gets Isaac’s boots and socks off in what _has_ to be record time, then crawls off the bed to get something from his room; Isaac’s kicking clumsily out of his jeans when Scott comes back - hitting the light in the room so it’s off - and tosses a half-empty bottle of generic store brand lube onto the bed. (There’s a distinct lack of condoms, and Isaac’s never been as particularly grateful about the whole _werewolves can’t get sick_ thing than he is currently.) Isaac shoves his jeans off the end of the mattress with his foot and claps his hands over his face, laughs because he’s not sure how this became his life. 

“Have you done this with her,” Scott’s tugging off his Timbs as he sits at the edge, tilts back precariously to shimmy out of his jeans and boxers in one go. Isaac’s hands drop to his chest.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Isaac doesn’t answer. Scott’s not smiling, suddenly, but unease doesn’t creep under Isaac’s skin the way it would with anyone else, because this is Scott, and he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Isaac. Scott crawls forward again, straddling one of Isaac’s thighs, body held up with palms flat on either side of Isaac’s head. 

“You said you think about me, but - you think about her, too, right?” He sits up when Isaac stays quiet, fingers splayed across Isaac’s ribs; his eyes flash red. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” Isaac says. _So fuck me until I forget_.

“Okay,” Scott’s eyes are closed now, and he takes a few slow breaths. When he opens them again, they’re the same, warm brown they usually are, and his mouth pulls up at one end, just a touch. “Okay.”

When he kisses Isaac this time, it’s tender, almost - lips parting, swallowing down the quiet sigh Isaac lets out in response, arms folding, tucking together under Isaac’s head. It’s the way you kiss when you’re in love, maybe. 

(Isaac’s never been too sure of what that feels like, to be kissed by someone whose in love with you. But it seems a lot like this exact moment.)

“Everything’s so weird,” he murmurs, palms skimming down the length of Scott’s back, pressing down until they’re flush together.

Scott laughs at that, hushed and careful. “Hella twisted.” His mouth drags over a cheekbone. “But - this is. This is just us, right? Even if it’s just - even if it doesn’t really solve anything -”

“Sex never complicates a friendship, Scott,” Isaac deadpans, and Scott nips at his jaw. 

“You’re not just my friend,” Scott tells him, soft and absolute, and Isaac says, “I know.”

(There's something deep in him like a whisper, a feeling like a tether in his chest reaching out once more to collect what’s his and - and later, when Scott’s fucking him, languid and deliberate, hands holding tight enough to bruise only because Isaac wants them to, Scott breathes out a ragged _You’re mine_ with all the bite of possession he can. 

Isaac says, “Always,” and the darkness in Scott’s chest recoils at the truth of it.)


End file.
